


Pretty Word Vomit

by VioletElder



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26416579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletElder/pseuds/VioletElder
Summary: Just a bit that kept rolling around in my head. Try not to read too much into it.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. The Plain

She ain’t exciting, no work of art  
Got more brains than she has heart  
And if you dare her to, best believe she will

She’s not the heat of noonday sun  
More like a midnight, moonlit run  
She knows that life can be a bitter pill.

She’s stiller waters, she runs deep  
She’s a heavy dreamless sleep  
She knows pleasure never comes without its pains

She ain’t no mountain, standing tall  
Or some sparkling waterfall  
If anything, I’d say that she’s the plains.

She’s comfy in the backstage  
Watching life pass by  
Tells herself each day’s a new page  
Yet she knows that’s a lie

‘Cause every night, when she’s alone  
She’d give up everything she’s done  
To have a chance to be a shining star

But she knows down deep inside  
And heaven knows how hard she’s tried  
We can’t change the crazy things we are

And you know she has her weakness  
When she hangs her head to cry  
But you’ll never see that meekness  
No matter how you try.

She is so dependable  
Yet she knows, expendable  
Ain’t nothin' here someone can’t replace

And no one knows, and no one cares  
About the secret pain she shares  
They don’t see the tracks of tears upon her face

And she’s no majestic mountain  
No sparkling waterfall  
Never be a gorgeous fountain  
That just ain’t her at all.

She’s no rapid white with foam  
Or some fancy sprawling home  
She’ll never grace a single magazine

She’s predictability  
But not much fun to be  
The most forgettable face you’ve never seen.


	2. Aptitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what's on the tin. It's a poem.

A tailor of unparalleled skill,

He pieces together her dark desires,

Her faraway fantasies, her erotic dreams,

Visions of long, lustful nights.

Gently are they gathered,

Nimble, skilled fingers of the master craftsman

Deftly sewing them together,

He joins the threads of her inginations with the fabric of her fascination.

Serving them to her,

He, the most talented of chefs.

Offering to her every unspoken craving,

Each secret fantasy; He creates for her a feast,

Laying each creation out upon the bed of her need,

The presentation without flaw.

Flavors melding and marrying perfectly.

Each bite delivered at the paramount moment,

The feast consummated without blemish.

She devours each morsel,

Savoring to herself every flavor.

The conundrum, of course:

The more she consumes,

The more ravenous she becomes.


	3. Other

She wandered life, through hill and plain  
Searching for reflections of her  
Hunting the joy, but finding the pain  
Of feeling like an other.

Everyone she ever knew  
Father, sister, brother,  
So unlike them, she found it true  
That she was simply other

When she was young, she quickly learned  
Which tendencies to smother  
Lest she be undone, and tables turned  
Revealing her as other

Craving acceptance, for ties that bind,  
She quickly learned to cover  
The tells, the signs, the crooked lines  
That branded her as other.

She wandered wilds, afraid, alone  
The empty sky above her  
Wind singing in a monotone  
Poor soul, this one, she’s other.

Even then, the hope remained  
There would be someone to love her  
Though the essence of her soul was stained  
But no one loves an other. 

Take care, my dear, and do not stray  
For your soul may not recover.  
Don’t lose yourself along the way  
‘Tis a lonesome life to be other.


	4. Finding Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please remember, this is nothing more than my safe space to write. 
> 
> More often than not, my writing lends itself to darker corners not shared aloud.
> 
> In other words, it's a cry for understanding, not help.   
> It's venting, emotional expression and it isn't indicative of impending disaster.

In all my struggle to make life better,  
I always manage to make it more bitter.

While I try to be a help and haven  
My labors bringing hell, not heaven

In an effort to bring peace; I started a war.  
Despite netting less, I had striven for more. 

Fighting to find a gentle life, a pair of arms giving peace,  
I have come to realize only death gives release.


End file.
